


Finding the Center

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      Thanks to all the fanfic writers out there who are an inspiration. What an amazing bunch of people you are. I'm learning from you. Constructive critique is welcome. I hope you enjoy. ***Jessica- Thanks for everything!<p>
    </p></blockquote>





	Finding the Center

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the fanfic writers out there who are an inspiration. What an amazing bunch of people you are. I'm learning from you. Constructive critique is welcome. I hope you enjoy. ***Jessica- Thanks for everything!

## Finding the Center

by Maggie

* * *

Finding the Center  
By Maggie 

Jim caught Frank Taylor's call on his way out of the bullpen. He had plans to grab some beer at the store then head home to watch the playoffs. It had been a day of paperwork and crap he hated to deal with: phone conversations with the wise ass from records, the morning spent with some hot shot FBI agent from St. Louis, and an afternoon meeting with the mayor. Simon had "invited" him to sit in on the kiss ass session regarding Blair's soon to be detective status. Jim lacked finesse, but if it meant keeping Blair's position in Major Crimes secure, he could pucker. Hell, he could buff and shine too. 

"What's up Frank?" Jim slung one arm through his jacket. 

"You told me you wanted a heads up about problems with Sandburg." Jim pulled the phone away from his ear a few inches. Frank's voice came in two volumes: loud and bark. Bark was reserved for police cadets stupid enough to treat his maintenance crew like servants. Jim knew the bark was worse than the bite which was why he had called in a favor and asked Frank to keep an eye on Blair. Not that Jim figured he needed babysitting, exactly. But, hell, this was Blair. Anything could happen. 

"Yeah." Jim frowned. "Something wrong?" 

"He's out on the track. Been there over an hour." Frank coughed and attempted to lower his voice, an effort totally wasted. "He lost it at the firing range today. Took off after his time in the box. He's been running ever since. It's raining like a son-of-a-bitch." Frank paused. "Thought I'd let you know." 

"Right. Thanks, Frank." Jim scrubbed his face with his free hand. "So, he did pretty bad, huh?" 

Frank snorted. "Got the high score." 

Jim blinked. "What?" 

"Damnedest thing." 

"Yeah. Keep an eye on him would you? I'll be right there." Jim shook his head and hung up the phone. The back of his neck tingled. With playoffs and the stop for beer forgotten, he headed for the elevator, the arm of his jacket dangling like a forgotten cape down his back. 

* * *

Blair Sandburg ran in circles. With each lap around the track, he came closer to that elusive space, the place meditation used to take him where his mind shut off and in the silence he heard answers. Some would say God spoke to him. Others would say the universe came online. Blair accepted all explanations for those moments, the where and how did not matter to him. What mattered was touching the center of things and coming back grounded. It had been a long time since he touched the center. 

After the first few laps, his legs burned. Now, they were numb. He figured they must still be attached since he was running around like some jackass in the rain. It was cold and his chest ached, but stopping seemed like a very bad idea. He wasn't sure why. Figuring that out would require him to think about what he was doing. And that would bring him back to obsessing over things like the faulty logic behind some police procedures, the arcane team building methods used with cadets, the different parts of a gun, and how it felt to hit the heart of the target, over and over. 

"Shit." He tripped and nearly took a nosedive into the track, but somehow righted himself and kept going. Forward. The rain was cold on his face and his breath puffed in white clouds and he was moving forward. That was all he needed to know right now. 

Taylor watched him from his apparent new home under the bleachers. What the hell he found so fascinating Blair couldn't fathom, but he had been there for the last couple of laps. Glaring. Arms folded. Jacket snug around his wrinkled self. Looking warm. 

Blair picked up the pace and glared back at the old fart. When the hell was the guy planning to retire? And why did he always seem to be lurking in the background? From what Blair could tell his job mainly involved reaming new cadets and adjusting the wad of keys on his belt. Surely he had a home to go to, a home cooked meal maybe, or a night in front of the tube. Maybe the guy just wanted to rattle the crafty near professor who somehow got accepted for firearms training at the academy. What the hell was he doing with a gun, anyway? Water slung about as Blair shook his head. The odd feel of air against his neck reminded him of his short hair, one more piece of him gone. 

But it was okay. The hair would grow back. This was the road to redemption. And the old fart could stare. Blair had to be here. Here is where he would become what Jim needed. Yeah right, he thought, who's kidding whom? Blair was the one in need here. He needed Jim, plain and simple, and true for so long now he couldn't remember the time before Jim became necessary. 

Blair picked up the pace as that feeling began to surface. Push it down. His Nikes slapped the pavement harder. Stop thinking. No reason to go there. But still he went, down, spiraling into thoughts about want and need and the almost physical ache involved in longing to give Jim everything. All the while knowing Jim probably didn't want everything. At least not from Blair. 

He began to shiver. Or, maybe, he just noticed that he was shivering. In any case, it made it hard to keep his momentum. One minute he was pumping for all he was worth, keeping his eyes on the track; next minute, he was rolling like a top heavy SUV. Damned if he didn't lose it on the curve. Curves will get you every time, he thought. He lay on his back, slowly growing aware of his legs and his right knee throbbing. Something warm trickled into his ear. Can't be rain he thought as a cold drop landed in his eye and he blinked to clear his vision. Things were getting fuzzy. Definitely fuzzy and dark. And what was that noise, that barking? Oh, Frank. The old fart loomed over Blair, the hood of his parka transforming him into a wizard. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing? No one ever teach you to get out of the rain? Dumb ass kids." The wizard ranted. "Lay still. You hear me." 

Blair wanted to tell him to go on home; he'd get up eventually. Right now, it was starting to feel okay. Lying here with the drizzle. Yeah, he was down with that. Literally. 

"What the hell is so funny?" Frank looked about ready to punch him and for a moment Blair braced himself until he realized the motion was just his arm coming out of his jacket. Then he felt warmth from body heat trapped in thick lining as Frank covered him with it. This was a damn nice jacket. "Don't close your eyes. I don't want you passing out on me." 

Without the hood, he no longer looked like a wizard, just an old guy with a big bald spot and clear gray eyes; the kind of guy who shouldn't be without his coat. Blair tried to push it back at him, but his arms wouldn't cooperate. 

"Sorry," he said, suddenly ashamed. His throat burned as his weakness caged him. He felt shaky and lost as the fear began to build. He should not be here. He should be somewhere else. Where the hell should he be? "Shit. Fuck. Dammit." 

"Yeah, well." The gray eyes warmed a bit. "That about covers it." 

* * *

Jim drove without sirens, but if the white knuckled grip of the drivers swerving out of his path gave any indication, it probably would have caused less attention if he'd used them. This was bad. Whatever this was. It was coming to a head. That miserable unease he felt these days with Blair was about to explain itself. He did not know if he was ready. 

Since Blair started firearms training, they had danced around it. Blair talked about the culture of cadets, comparing them to a tribe he read about in one of the million journals stuffed in odd places about his room. Jim listened like a detective, searching for clues in the story that would explain the shutters now hiding Blair's emotions. Blair talked a lot but gave away little of what was going on with him. He spoke in polite generalities and looked at Jim behind an expression meant for the sort of person you say "fine" to when they ask how you are. 

"Step on it, grandpa." Jim swerved around a Lincoln and onto the off ramp. 

Road construction loomed before him, orange cones poked skyward like fangs. Naturally, an obstacle course. Nothing was easy with Blair. Every damn thing came hard. All the things he wanted were out of his control: Blair safe, Blair near, Blair smiling at him with that glint in his eye, the one he shared when the world had righted itself around them. These things were transitory. They came and went like that spark he felt sometimes when they both dropped their guards. Lately, Jim had about decided the moon controlled Blair Sandburg. Since the start of his training, he had pulled into himself. It wasn't natural. This subdued Blair. Something had to give. Goddammit. And when it did, he wanted Blair back, all at once, in a gush like the tide. 

"Fuck this." Jim flipped the lights and sirens on and swerved onto the shoulder. 

Rain pelted the windshield in large drops, heavy and loud. The wipers brushed efficiently and Jim fought the urge to focus hearing and sight to their consistent rhythm. The thought of Blair running in the downpour pulled his full attention back to the road in time to catch a stream of sour faces cast his way as he bullied his way forward through the traffic. Another few miles and he would be there. What the hell would he do then? 

* * *

"You don't need to help me, man. I'm fine. Really." Blair had made it into a sitting position. He blinked rain from his eyes and attempted an earnest expression. 

Frank grunted and shook his head. He pulled Blair's arms into the sleeves of the jacket, tugged the hood up then moved behind him, slid his arms around Blair's chest and lifted. Blair soon found himself upright with his arm slung across surprisingly strong shoulders. 

"You're stronger than you look." The thought was out before he could derail his tongue. 

"Looks aren't everything, boy." Frank steered them toward the main building. "Hell, looking at you, I would of thought you had a brain in your head." 

Despite the pain in his knee, Blair laughed. "Good point." 

"So, what are you doing out here?" 

Whether due to the space of comfort found in the sudden warmth of the borrowed jacket, or just due to exhaustion, Blair found himself spitting out truths. 

"I needed space. I can't seem to get out of my head anymore. And believe me, that is a bad thing. You don't want to be trapped with my brain for any long period of time. Weird shit happens in there. I used to think it was good to ask myself the big questions. But that's only when you don't need the answers right away." Blair noticed Frank's eyebrow arching in question. "You know, what is my purpose? What is the next step?" 

"Sure." Frank nodded. "Seem like good things to know. Probably good to ask, if you don't know them already." 

"Exactly!" Blair nodded frantically. "How can I not know these things? Fundamental shit." 

"Fundamental, huh?" Frank grinned. "How about 'When's payday?' Now, that's fundamental to me. Or, 'What channel is the Jags' game on?'" 

Blair blinked. He had to pause to think about that. "Well, everything is relative. What's fundamental depends on where you're at, I suppose. Maslow would say it depends on where you're at in the hierarchy. What your needs are. You know, food, roof over your head." 

"Yeah, well. I'm pretty well set." Frank adjusted Blair's arm across his shoulder. "But, you have to figure in that I'm old. It took me awhile to get here. Hell of a ride though." 

"I hear you. You're saying it's the journey that's important, not the destination." Blair winced as they moved off the track onto the grass. He tried to gauge the distance left to the building but his vision kept shifting out of focus. 

"Careful. Gopher holes all over the place here." 

Blair nodded. He felt dizzy and tired. He wondered if Jim was home yet. Probably fixing chili and watching ESPN for predictions about the game. A sudden blast of longing whistled through him. Jim would be dressed in sweats by now, the blue ones he saw in the laundry on Sunday. He would have those socks on, the thick, white ones. If Blair were home, he would settle in on the couch and steal glances at those socks, those sweats, and Jim's face as he watched the game. 

"I used to like the journey." Blair took a deep breath and held back a cough. "Now, I'm not so sure. I don't want to go it alone, you know?" 

Frank looked at him a moment. "You don't look so good, kid. You aren't planning on passing out on me, are you?" 

"Chief." 

Blair looked up in surprise. Jim stood not a foot away from him. Blair closed his eyes then opened them, half-expecting Jim to fade away. But there he stood, confused frown on his face, blue eyes brimming with concern. Well, now. Maybe Frank Taylor was a wizard after all. 

* * *

Jim bypassed two puddles before landing a direct hit as he ran from the parking lot to the track. His shoes squeaked. The annoying sound grated on his last nerve. He spotted Blair and Frank right away. Zooming in with his vision, he saw two obvious problems: a small trickle of blood from Blair's right temple, and the fact that Frank looked like the only thing keeping Blair from a plunge to the ground. 

Next, he piggybacked hearing to sight and caught a rambling bit about Blair's brain and fundamental shit, then "I don't want to go it alone, you know?" 

"Chief." He said. 

Blair looked at him, gave a slow blink as relief flooded his face. Then, he seemed to crumple in on himself. His eyes rolled back, his legs gave way and he slid bonelessly against Frank's chest. 

"Whoa." Jim rushed forward and bent to catch him, instantly lifting Blair into his arms. "What the hell happened?" 

"He took a tumble on the track," Frank said. "Twisted his knee and banged his head. Are you okay there? You sure you can carry him? He gets a little heavy." 

Jim nodded and kept a tight hold on Blair as they made their way the last bit to the building. Frank opened the door and Jim turned sideways to bring his armload in. Blair stirred halfway down the corridor to the infirmary. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief, it's me. Hang in there. We're going to have the nurse look you over." 

Blair lifted a hand to his temple and winced. He then took in his current situation and frowned. 

"Put me down, man." 

Jim kept moving. He tightened his grip as Blair began to squirm. 

"Come on. I can walk. Let me go. I'm okay." 

Jim chose not to respond, having learned from numerous sessions of debate with Blair that silence was the best rebuttal. Lesson one: words can be used as weapons. Lesson two: Blair has the biggest arsenal. 

By the time they reached the infirmary, Blair had pulled out the big guns including "imperious control freak." Keep it up Junior. One day you're going to see how far out of control I can get. He reached the infirmary and placed Blair on the closest gurney, all the while trying not to analyze that last thought too deeply. 

After a quick exam, the nurse produced towels, a gown and a warmed blanket. She looked to be about Frank's age with an expression of forced tolerance. 

"Your temperature is a bit low. We need to get you out of those wet clothes and warm you up." 

Jim helped him out of the jacket and handed it to Frank. Next came the sweatshirt. Blair tensed as the nurse reached for the waistband of his sweats. 

"I can get this." He actually blushed. "Thanks. I'm good here." 

"I'll help him." Jim wrapped a blanket around Blair's shoulders as small tremors graduated to full-fledged shivering. 

Frank and the nurse stepped away, pulling the curtain closed around them. Blair hopped off the gurney and immediately winced. 

"Easy. Not so fast." Jim grabbed his elbow. "What's your rush here? I doubt you've got anything she hasn't seen already, Chief." 

"I know." Irritation rolled from him, but he allowed Jim to help tug the wet pants off. 

Jim frowned at the icy coldness of Blair's skin. Once the gown was tied, he grabbed a towel and began rubbing it up and down Blair's legs, avoiding the injured knee. 

"Think I'll sit down, okay Jim?" 

Jim glanced up. Blair looked pale and unsteady. He hefted him back onto the gurney and layered the blankets on him. 

" . . .'M not a sack of potatoes, man. What's with all the tossing around?" Blair shuddered hard enough to shake the gurney. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "I'm okay. Just give me a minute." 

"Sure, Chief." Jim pushed a damp curl back then left his palm pressed to the cool forehead. He ran his other hand up and down the blanket over Blair's thigh. 

For a moment, touch was the most important sense. He reveled in the solid feel of Blair beneath his hands: the gradual warming of Blair's skin under his palm, the release of tension as shivers gave way to tremors then calm. He moved his hand down to cup Blair's cheek and allowed a small smile as Blair tilted his face toward him. 

Sound exploded in a single breath from full lips. Then sight took hold as dark blue eyes opened. Caught. He stared back and found the shutters gone. Blair's emotions were there, flowing toward him, and Jim recognized them. He saw the one which first lodged in his chest on the day his dad called him a freak. And, the one he took on after burying the last of his men in Peru. Then, there was the other one, the one he felt most days now whenever Blair walked into a room. 

Blair closed his eyes and turned on his side, away from him. It would be easy for Jim to close off now too. To let this moment pass like all the other moments when they almost gave in to acknowledging this thing between them. 

He stared at the back of Blair's neck. The hair was growing out again, but still short. It felt odd to see this piece of Blair, pale and vulnerable, long hidden by curls and flannel. What felt even more out of order was the certainty that it was up to him this time to stir the emotional pot. There would be no step forward unless he pushed them both over the cliff. 

"It's okay." He reached out and took the back of Blair's neck in a gentle hold, stroking his thumb down then up to the soft hollow behind his ear. "Everything's going to work out. We're okay." 

"Yeah?" Blair swallowed. 

"Yeah." Jim smiled and let his touch soothe them both. 

* * *

Jim was in full mother-hen mode, Blessed Protector on alert. Give up the ghost, Blair told himself, you're just along for the ride. The nurse's suggestion that his knee get x-rayed met with full Jim approval. Frank chimed in as well and before he could mutter more than five choice comebacks, he found himself decked in a borrowed set of scrubs and bundled into Jim's truck on his way to the emergency room. After two hours of prodding, tests and eventual conclusions that his knee was sprained and his brain was no more damaged than usual, he was sent home with instructions for rest, ice packs, ace wrap and leg up. 

He kept his eyes focused out the window on the ride home. He couldn't chance looking at Jim. Blair wasn't hitting on all cylinders tonight, and things kept shifting forward in his mind, things he tried to keep boxed when Jim was around. And Jim was being really weird. The extra touchy behavior was obviously a Sentinel reaction to an injured Guide. That was it. No sense reading more into those touches or that look in Jim's eyes. Wishful thinking could kill a person. Of course, there was no scientific proof of that but he needed to quit testing the theory. Time to grow up, Sandburg. 

The rain finally stopped, just in time for their trek from the truck to the loft. Jim made a move which looked suspiciously like a maneuver for swooping him up again. 

"Try it and die." 

Jim actually stood still for a moment as if considering the risk then shrugged and settled for invading his personal space for the entire hobble to the loft. Sweat trickled down Blair's back by the time they made it to the door. Having Jim so close set a current along his skin, lifting each hair. Blair Sandburg: walking brushfire. 

"I'm hitting the shower," Blair said. "I reek." 

"Need a hand getting the wrap off your knee?" Jim landed the keys in the basket with a back-armed toss. 

"No." 

Blair paused at the door to the bathroom. 

"Thanks for the help today, Jim." 

Jim's eyebrows drew together. "Quit with the polite shit and take your shower." 

Blair opened then closed his mouth. What the hell kind of a reaction was that? 

"Well, fuck you then." He limped into the bathroom. 

He heard Jim mutter, "That's better." 

Blair paused, thought about asking what that meant then settled for slamming the door. 

He took a long time in the shower. What a fucked up day. He should think now, try to analyze it. He was sane. So, it happened, right? He remembered curving his finger on the trigger. He knew he was turning out to be good enough with a gun, but never that good, never so near to perfect. He remembered the feel as the bullets cracked on the heart shots, the certainty of the kill, the bitter death cry of the wolf echoing louder than the reverberation of the shots. Then the target barreled forward for review of his aim, spattered and dripping with blood. 

Blair pulled back from the memory as his heart threatened to hammer from his chest. He tried not to think at all, tried to breathe in a slow rhythm, to focus on the sound of water hitting his skin. Relax, dammit. Then, he shivered at the remembered sensation of Jim's hand on his neck. His bones chose to melt and he leaned against the shower wall, cock springing to life like a guest at a surprise party. 

"You okay in there, Chief? I've got a bowl of chili with your name on it out here." Jim banged on the door. "Hurry it up." 

Blair jerked and covered himself with both hands. Shit. He rolled his eyes and forced himself to relax. He pictured Jim as Superman, shooting a glance through the door toward his cock. He snorted. Yeah, right. 

"Coming," he said. 

A cloud of steam followed him out of the bathroom. He ducked into his room, pulled on sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt. Jim sat at the table, using obvious restraint to keep himself from launching out of the seat to help him. He had a chair with pillow and ice pack set up for Blair's leg. Keeping the wolf and memories of the day pushed to the back of his mind, Blair made it to the table. He plopped down, rested his leg on the pillow and sighed. Jim set the ice pack on his knee. 

"We need to get the wrap back on." Jim scanned him with his vital-check expression then returned to crushing crackers into his chili. "Do you feel better?" 

"Yeah, actually, I do. Just tired." Blair grabbed his spoon and dug in. "Good stuff." 

Jim nodded and munched happily. The game provided a soothing background noise and Blair allowed his mind to drift away from attempts at conversation. He finished the bowl, dropped his spoon, leaned back then frowned as he discovered a statue. Jim had zoned on something. 

* * *

The last thing Jim remembered was a dribble of chili sauce on the corner of Blair's mouth and the slow swipe of a pink tongue over that remarkable lower lip. Then, a sting on his right cheek pulled him back. 

"Come out of it, Jim!" Blair landed a smack to his cheek. He stood above Jim, arm lifting as if ready to go another round. Jim snared his wrist. 

"I'm alive, Sandburg." 

"Shit." Blair's breath came out in a whoosh. "What the hell was that about?" 

"The chili was a little too spicy." Lame he thought, but figured it might sound scary if he admitted: well, Chief, I was thinking about sucking the chili off your lip and just kind of lost it there. 

"Huh." Blair stared at him. The wheels were turning. "Taste. How long has it been since you were affected that strongly by taste? Man, that is strange. Maybe we should . . .." 

"Get off the leg and get your knee wrapped up. That's what we should do." Jim kept his hold on Blair's wrist and pulled him toward the couch. 

"Now hold on a minute, Jim. You haven't zoned in forever. This could be a sign of something wrong. We need to talk about this." 

"Fine." He pushed Blair down in the middle of the couch. "Talk." 

He headed toward the bathroom to retrieve the ace wrap, leaving Blair to sputter and fling his arms up. 

"You're the one with the information here, man." 

Jim returned to the couch and looked down at Blair. 

"Stand up and get the pants down so I can wrap your knee." Jim made lifting motions with his hands. 

Blair cast a withering look at him. "I can handle it, myself." 

"What's with this 'I am an island' routine?" Jim crossed his arms in irritation. "Are you just too good for my help? Or is it just that you don't want me touching you?" 

Blair froze. 

Bingo. 

"What don't you like about my touch, Chief?" 

"Get over yourself, Ellison. I'm not afraid of you." Blair sprung to his feet, stripped his sweats down to his ankles then plopped back on the couch, knees spread wide, fingers wiggling in a 'bring it on' gesture. 

Jim's mouth went dry at the sight of Blair sprawled before him, wide open, chest rising and falling in a bothered rhythm. His shirt was bunched up on one side and hooked into the waistband of his boxers, leaving his crotch visible, the bulge undeniable. Blair's breath hitched as Jim took his fill of the view and he tugged at his shirt, trying to pull the hem loose, desperate to cover himself. 

This is it, Ellison. 

"I never said you were afraid of me, Chief." 

Jim slid to his knees between Blair's legs. The wrap dropped to the floor as he spread both palms across Blair's thighs up to the edge of his boxers then under to the soft skin of his hips. Muscles bunched and quivered beneath his fingers. Blair gripped his arms. Eyes wild. 

"J-jim." 

"Maybe you're afraid of this?" Jim leaned in and began the kiss. 

Blair tensed at the first soft brush of lips. Jim paused, noted the clutch-release of Blair's fingers on his arms, mirroring the gesture of his own fingers on Blair's hips. Then he dove in again, brushing their lips together once, twice, before finally tasting that lower lip with a slow lick. 

Taste. Oh shit. So good this just might kill him. Blair gasped and Jim inhaled the warm breath before dipping his tongue deeper, mating it with Blair's, dueling then exploring until the need for air forced them apart. He looked down. Blair eyes were huge and dark. His grip on Jim's arms had eased. Jim battled the urge to pounce then gave in with a low growl and tug which brought Blair's hips forward until their cocks met, hard lengths buffered by fabric. 

Jim froze for fear of losing it. Right then. Right there. 

Blair sprung to life, hips thrusting, words spilling. 

"Oh, Jim. Shit. Fuck. This is gonna. I'm gonna. Whoa. No, not whoa, just . . .." 

"Keep thrusting and I won't be responsible for my actions, Chief." 

Blair froze then too, a not quite definable look in his eyes. He seemed to melt into the sofa cushion. His glance dropped to Jim's mouth, a sheen of sweat popped onto Blair's upper lip and he made a noise, a small, needy sound that pulled a matching sweat from just about every pore in Jim's body. 

Jim slid his hands up and over Blair's sides, to his neck then further until he cradled Blair's head. Brown curls twirled against his fingers as he tilted Blair's face to the right angle and dove in for round two. 

After an endless time, he pulled his mouth from Blair's and started a journey south. Taste. The one sense never allowed him. Now he wanted a full course meal. He sucked Blair's neck, nipping, biting, and sensing the warm rush of blood to the surface of his skin. Then down, snuffing under the neck of Blair's t-shirt to the sweet spot where neck met shoulder. He lifted briefly, long enough to grab the hem of the shirt and pull it up, over Blair's head and off. Blair reached for him, dazed, flushed and more beautiful than any sight Jim had ever seen. 

Jim hovered for a moment then slid down Blair's body, lowering his mouth to his chest, grazing each nipple with his teeth, returning over and over to lick and taste them. He swirled his tongue through the soft dusting of hair then down to Blair's navel. He dipped his tongue in and wiggled the tip. Blair screamed. 

Jim stilled the frantic thrust of hips and leaned in to nuzzle Blair's cock through the fabric of his boxers. 

"Oh Jesus, Jim." Blair's breath came in pants and his hands fisted the cushions beside him. 

Jim pulled the boxers down slowly, revealing the tip of Blair's cock first, then the length, and finally a full view of the prize. Too much, it was almost too much. The heady scent of Blair, the now constant moan of need, the heat and promise so close. It had been a long time since he'd tasted another man. So long and never with love as the driving force. Everything was familiar yet so different. New and more exciting than any moment he could bring to mind. Why had he denied this need for so long? 

Blair whimpered as he ran his tongue around the crown of the weeping cock. Jim reached down and rolled heavy balls in his left palm, reveling in the warm feel of that handful before focusing his attention on the length in his right. He stroked once then again as Blair thrust in sync to a whispered mantra. 

" . . . Oh, oh, oh, oh." 

Gone. Blair was gone, eyes glazed, muscles quivering, chest heaving. Jim leaned in and sucked Blair's cock into his mouth. Blair came with a hoarse shout of "Jim!" Taste exploded across his tongue and he swallowed over and over. After a final pulse, Blair collapsed in a still heap. 

Jim sucked a moment longer, reluctant to let go then pulled his mouth free with a moan. He glided up Blair's body, pushed damp curls back from the flushed face then realized with a start Blair had passed out. 

"Chief!" 

He panicked for a moment. Maybe this had not been the best choice of activity for a man who had banged his head once today? But Blair was already stirring, coming back around. His eyelids fluttered then opened to reveal the most sated glance Jim had ever seen. And he had caused it, created this version of Blair. Joy and not a little pride overrode his concern as Blair cast a shy grin at him. 

"Man oh man." 

"You passed out." Jim knew his own grin must look a bit smug, but hell, why not? 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

* * *

Blair decided he had never felt this good in his life. His body hummed. Jim looked sexy as hell with that goofy grin on his face, hair spiking in little tufts around his head. What the hell just happened here? No, don't analyze it, Sandburg, just make it happen again. 

Blair grabbed Jim's face in both hands, pulled him down, then went to work replacing that grin with a softer landing pad for his lips. 

"Chief." Jim tried to pull back. "Chief, let's . . ." 

Blair wrapped his arms around Jim's neck and closed the distance, thrusting his tongue into Jim's mouth with healthy glee. Jim seemed to give up on speech as his own tongue got busy once again rolling across erogenous zones Blair never knew existed within his mouth. 

Jim leaned back, bringing Blair upright with him. Blair shuddered as Jim dipped strong hands under his ass and lifted. Suddenly, they were standing. Blair pulled his mouth away, panting slightly. 

"Where we going?" He managed to ask before latching his mouth onto Jim's neck. 

"Upstairs." Jim stepped back. "Big bed. Room to maneuver." 

He wrapped Blair's forgotten ace wrap around his own shoulders. 

"That's a good look for you, man." Blair chuckled then frowned with a sudden realization. "Your clothes are on." 

Jim put his foot between Blair's legs, stepping on the wad of boxers and sweats pooling at his feet, then bent forward and hoisted Blair into a naked package across his shoulder. 

"Hey!" 

"Deal with it, Festus." Jim swatted his ass. 

Blair retaliated with a double-handed squeeze as Jim maneuvered them up the stairs. 

"Shit." Jim paused. "If I lose it on these steps, we're both going to end up back in the ER tonight, Chief." 

Blair gave each of the tight mounds a soft pat before releasing them. Jim groaned and moved with admirable speed to the king-sized surface that was their destination. He dropped Blair gently onto the mattress. Blair blinked at the sudden, dizzy realization that he was naked in Jim's bed. 

Holy shit. 

He sat up and reached for Jim, suddenly aware of dreams and visions and strange shifts in reality. He pulled Jim close and began working on the buttons of his shirt. His hands trembled and Jim covered them with his own. 

"You okay, Chief?" Jim tipped his chin up and met his glance. "We don't need to go any further right now. No need to set any speed records here." 

"I need to see you." Blair sounded hoarse. "I want to touch you." 

Jim's eyes darkened and he swayed closer. He leaned down to brush his lips across Blair's then stepped back and began to unbutton his shirt. The temperature in the room seemed to rise a notch as each button revealed more. He took a deep breath as Jim smiled at him, a slow, easy quirk of lips. Blair had seen this vista before, the rippled surface, tight abdomen and smooth pecs, but never with that smile directed at him. 

"Thought you wanted to touch." Jim teased. 

Blair rose from the bed. He pushed the shirt from Jim's shoulders. It fell in a reckless pile on the floor. He moved in, slid both hands across Jim's shoulders then down, pausing at hard nipples, tracing a finger around each one then leaning in to run his tongue in the same circle on each of them. God. Jim was warm and smooth and solid. 

Jim moaned. He gripped Blair's head and held it still. Blair sucked the hard nub into his mouth and rubbed his tongue over the tip. He circled his arms around Jim's waist and pulled their bodies closer. Jim's breath grew ragged and he pulled Blair's head back then tilted his face up. 

"Are you planning to unwrap the rest of me?" He sounded breathless. 

"Oh, yeah." Blair leaned up for a quick, hard kiss then pulled back to focus on Jim's lower half. 

The pants and boxers were gone in seconds. Jim's cock jutted toward him and he sat on the bed to meet the view head on, so to speak. He leaned forward with a tentative smile, licked it then sucked just the tip into his mouth. 

"Shit. Ah, shit, Chief." Jim alternately pushed then pulled at his shoulders. 

Blair released his cock and looked up. Jim's eyes were squeezed shut. Sweat glistened on his skin. 

"Jim? You with me? Am I doing okay here? What do you need?" 

After a deep breath, Jim glanced down at him. He blinked then frowned, a line of concentration forming between his eyebrows. 

"You haven't done this before," Jim said. He looked horrified at himself. 

Blair frowned. "What? Is experience required?" 

Jim growled and knelt on the mattress. He pulled Blair with him toward the head of the bed. Blair flopped back on the pillow as Jim settled over him, looking down with a fierce expression. 

"No," he said. "Of course not. We're just not going to rush through this. It's important. I want it all to be good." 

Blair snorted. "Jim, I've got to tell you, we passed good a long time ago." 

Jim considered this. He pursed his lips as they began to twitch then gave into the smile. 

"So, I guess you have done this before?" Blair asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. 

"I've had sex with a few men, a long time ago. But, I've never done this." Jim pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I've never made love to a man before now." 

Jim kissed his nose then his cheek then his mouth. He dipped his tongue in and they were off again. Blair could easily grow addicted to Jim's kisses. He pulled back to say so and Jim caught his lower lip between his teeth and tugged. Heat coiled low in Blair's belly. His cock had stirred to life again sometime during the process of undressing Jim. He felt so hard now it was almost painful. 

Jim nudged Blair's legs apart, careful of his knee. He then settled himself between them and aligned their cocks. The first touch nearly undid them both. They paused, still except for shaky breaths. Then Jim began to move. Slow at first, circling his hips in a wicked motion that rolled the base of their cocks across each other, pulling moans from each of them. Blair thrust helplessly as his second orgasm began to build. He clutched Jim's ass and shivered at the sweat-slick glide of skin against skin. Don't come yet, he thought, not yet. He looked up, wanting to see Jim come, wanting to watch the moment it happened. Then, Jim tossed his head back, tendons bulged in his neck and he roared as slick, hot pulses flooded both their groins. The sensations were too much. Blair spiraled with him, coming with a shout. 

Much later, they lay together, soft light from the bedside lamp spilling across their skin. Blair had dozed for a time then woke to find his knee wrapped and elevated on two pillows, ice pack perched on top. He had dreamt he was the wolf, running on a path through the forest. He ran without fear, circling in to the deepest part where he found the panther sprawled across his path like a finish line. 

Jim lay on his side now, elbow bent, head propped on his fist, looking down at Blair. He ran his hand up and down Blair's side. 

"So, Marathon Man." Jim's voice was soft. "You going to tell me what was up with you today?" 

Blair took a deep breath and met Jim's glance. 

"The wolf spoke to me." He paused, a flutter of worry growing in his chest. 

Jim rubbed his thumb across Blair's forehead, no doubt smoothing the crinkles. 

"What did he say?" 

"I don't think I can carry a gun, Jim." 

He looked in Jim's eyes. He looked long and hard. His breath caught at the sudden sense of falling in and letting go. 

"So," Jim said. "You won't carry a gun." 

Nothing could be this easy. 

"But what about working with you and watching your back. And what about Simon and all he put on the line to get me into firearms training? What if this blows it and I can't be with you? Who's going to be there for you? What if . . . " 

Jim silenced him with a kiss. 

"You've watched my back pretty damn well for the last few years without a gun. And, as for the rest of it, we'll work it out. There's a big picture we probably should be looking at here, Chief. You tried to get me to see it some time ago and I wasn't ready. Maybe I am now. Maybe I'm ready to take that trip with you." 

Blair felt a stir of excitement in his chest. He touched Jim's face, grounding himself. So, here it was, his center, not so hard to reach after all. 

END 


End file.
